


That Time I Disappointed My Parents and Became Heart Attack Man

by punkgrandpa_art



Category: Heart Attack Man
Genre: Bands, Concerts, Music, Punk, Short One Shot, pop punk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkgrandpa_art/pseuds/punkgrandpa_art
Summary: Harvard Attel Manson's name is the most intriguing thing about them -- that is, until they defy all odds and win tickets to see superstar-heart-throbs Heart Attack Man in Cleveland. Harvard has some business to take care of first, though -- their stepdad.CONTENT WARNING: Abuse, Mild blood/gore.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	That Time I Disappointed My Parents and Became Heart Attack Man

I'd always considered myself the luckiest, unlucky person in the world. I never achieved anything with just sheer luck—I'm not even lucky enough to get picked last for dodgeball. Maybe that just means I'm """average""", but a "lucky-unlucky person" sounds WAY cooler.

But that all changed when I, Harvard Attell Manson, won the "Who Wants to See Heart Attack Man?" giveaway! I could hardly believe it — surely it was fake, right? I mean, my life is about as vanilla as they come! I've never been on people's radars. In fact, I live in middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin, it's like I'm off the grid! People like me don't just win one-in-a-million contests, let alone ones for their favorite band! 

It was totally legit, though. Heart Attack Man's frontman, Eric, shouted me out on Twitter — @ and all! I even got a BOAT-LOAD of merch — the key chain with the skull on it, the mosh pants with the creepy eye, the bloody hockey jersey, and a coffee mug were all in a huge box on my doorstep one morning. I immediately filled in the blank on my mug under the "Good Morning Everyone" with my name. "Harvard from Heart Attack Man." Has a nice ring to it. But then my mom stuck the mug in the dishwasher where it got all smudged! Ugh! I keep telling her putting any coffee mug in the dishwasher will chip it, but my stepdad made her think it's fine! She's such a suck-up to Scum-Bag sometimes — actually, all the time. I swear I've never seen that woman make a choice in her life. (So much for feminism.) Scum-Bag once asked her to make liver and onion casserole for dinner. LIVER AND ONION. CASSEROLE. You could smell the sarcasm in his breath, yet she made it!!! She went out to the store, bought liver from GOD knows what animal, and two large onions. The kitchen looked like an AUTOPSY happened! And I'll be the first to say I didn't expect liver to leave a penny-like taste on your tongue...

Something dawned on me while my mom was going on about Scum-Bag and the dishwasher: Scum-Bag doesn't let me go to concerts — let alone ones nine hours away! Last time I snuck out to one he caught me and next thing I knew I couldn't see out of my left eye for a week!!! I couldn't risk something like that again — this was a once in a lifetime thing — so I had to come up with a super calculated, fool-proof plan.

I decided I wanted to kill him. Well, I'd always wanted to kill him, he's very killable. No matter what I did, I was always wrong in his eyes, and then my mom would agree. If he wasn't calling me my deadname he was calling me "Yale," "Princeton," or other unoriginal, unfunny jokes. My mom would still laugh at them. And I'll never get this image out of my head; the one of him prodding at the raw liver on the counter with a blade while my mom unknowingly cooked the onions, then manhandling and squeezing it right in my face because he wanted to torture me, make me gag. He knew I wouldn't look away, either, he'd never stop calling me a sissy if I did that.

But I never thought about HOW I'd kill him. Should I choke him? Smother him? Mash pills into his potatoes? Lots of possibilities here, but stabbing him would be the most satisfying. Unfortunately, I didn't get a hold of a Hammy knife, so I had to use one of the boring kitchen knives.

I offered to wash the dishes after dinner so I could sneak one of the knives into my pocket — turns out the pockets on my mosh pants are very roomy! I waited outside in the backyard, behind this old shed we have but juuust visible enough so Scum-Bag could see me. The shed always scared me. It's been on the property since the 1900s or something like that and made it through a lotta, lotta harsh winters, but I always thought it would collapse on me when I happened to be out near it. I heard muffled yelling and banging from the glass door, I'm sure he was saying it's past curfew or something, but I ignored him so he'd come outside and try to drag me back in. I knew Scum-Bag's usual ways, so I was right.

"I should just leave you out here, you'd make good coyote feed." He told me, raising his voice probably so the neighbors could hear or something stupid like that. I still wasn't budging. That man could coax me like a stray dog all he wanted, but I had the upper hand here. He grabbed me by my shirt collar, so hard I could hear the fabric STRETCHING.

"You playing for the Red Wings now?" He asked, referring to my Fake Blood jersey and laughing. Excuse me, you can't just ruin my HAM merch and then joke about it!!! Asshole.

I guess he wanted me to laugh at his joke because he got all mad and grabbed me by my neck this time to force me up. He was such a BABY sometimes, god! That's when I pulled the knife on him — this was gonna be good. He didn't think I'd attack, saying things like "Go ahead, stab me," but boy can you imagine the surprise on his face when I lodged the knife right into the heart! His shirt bloomed with blood INSTANTLY. And his face froze in a jaw-dropped expression, which was kinda creepy because he was trying to talk at the same time, too, but his mouth wasn't moving.

"[Redacted]...[Redacted]...what have you done..." For fuck's sake, my name is Harvard. Harvard. Attell. Manson. That warranted a few more stabs in the stomach, then a few more. But then I heard some creaking coming from behind me — the kind floorboards make. Oh shit, the shed was finally coming down! I got out of the way just in time — of all days, this was the day the old shed collapsed. Glad my good luck streak was continuing, I wouldn't have to cut up the body and hide it, this'll look like an accident!

I hummed "Cut My Losses'' while washing all the blood off the knife into the sink. I thought it was appropriate — because I had just CUT into someone, and Scum-Bag was my "losses." He was gone, out of my life.

Wait...holy fuck...

How was I gonna get to Cleveland?

I rushed to my room to look up the nearest train station — there was one within walking distance, yay! I just needed to borrow some cash from my mom. I asked her for the whole wad sitting on her dresser and she let me have it. She just wanted to know where Scum-Bag was.

"He went out to get milk." I told her.

"Oh, okay, we needed some." (We totally didn't.)

"And I'm leaving for Cleveland in the morning."

"For how long?"

"Permanently."

"Okay, have fun."

\- - - 

All I knew about Cleveland was that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was there, but it doesn't even matter because Heart Attack Man aren't in it yet! Oh, and this is their hometown, they talk about it all the time. Cities kinda overwhelm me — too much violence, but this time was different. I felt right at home.

They were playing at this place called The Grog Shop -- I'm not sure what a "grog" is, but that's what they sell, I guess. It was fucking freezing waiting in line outside, but people around me were wearing short-shorts and short sleeve HAM shirts like it was nothing — probably because they're already numb inside. I wanted to get a picture of the tour flyer in the window but...wait a minute...

OTHER bands were gonna be performing?!?!

God, this was so lame! Who even were these stupid bands? I couldn't believe this, why couldn't Heart Attack Man perform for three hours?? Whatever, I guess I had to put up with them.

I met some other fans in the pit and talked with them in between acts. They all looked like they wanted to harvest my organs or something at first, but I think they're just excitable. They were having a competition to see who was the most "tried and true" Heart Attack Man fan. One of them said they own all their test print merch, another said they mix creamer into their coffee with "fingers." (Someone asked if they were severed fingers or fingers still attached to a body, they just glazed their eyes and turned around.) I gloated about killing Scum-Bag to get here. Their eyes fluttered at me and they asked me to elaborate, so I started telling my story. It was like I was the second coming of Christ or something! 

"That's so Heart Attack Man." One fan said. "Like...you can't get more Heart Attack Man than that."

"Yeah, you should tweet that at Eric." Someone else said. So I did, I tweeted: "Can @HeartAttackMane hurry up? I already had to kill my stepdad to get here." Eric replied with "Fuckin' metal dude we'll be on in 5."

For once I actually seemed worthwhile, people liked me, whether as just a funny Heart Attack Man fan, or maybe even a real stepdad killer...you never know with these people. Regardless, talking to them was almost as fun as the actual show, and didn't make me want to gauge my eyes out like conversations with Mom and Scum-Bag did!

Oh, what a relief! Heart Attack Man were on within the next five minutes. They started with "Sugar Coated," which was, like, really intense. Have you heard that BREAKDOWN? Once Eric screamed "SET THIS SHIT OFF!" people started pushing into each other and moshing -- it was like mind control. I'd never really moshed before, but there's a first time for everything! Everyone was so careful not to knock me down, and they were letting me push them -- but it was like they wanted me to push them!

Then came "Crisis Actor." I was a lot better at running in the circle pit -- Scum-Bag pushing me to the ground while playing in the yard as a kid really prepared me for it. I was having so much fun, until the cops showed up!! You gotta be fucking kidding me!!! This pissed everyone off, but Heart Attack Man kept playing because they didn't give a fuck -- and they were just getting to the "You have the right to remain silent" part too! So basically everyone rushed the stage and started screaming it at them, including me, while others got in their face and started swearing at them. But those pigs walked up to the stage and grabbed ME!! I kicked and screamed while they tried to tell me something, and to my surprise, complete strangers tried to stand between them and me. Their shouting got more aggressive, their gestures towards them sterner. These people didn't even know my name -- it was like they knew it already! In their eyes, I was innocent! And I WAS innocent!

...Wait.

Turns out they knew about Scum-Bag. And the craziest part? They found out from my mom, who put me down as a suspect. She told them I was in Cleveland and they tracked me down. I tried to tell them it was an accident, but "the stab wounds to the chest and stomach area tell a different story" is what they said to me.

Now I'm in prison for the next thirty years or so. Weird thing is, the other prisoners here are actually nice to me! They always want to hear my story, especially the concert part. I've also gotten a few people into Heart Attack Man! One woman, Bertha, who accidentally cooked her newborn baby, thinks her favorite song would be "100 mg (Millennial)." She also does mean stick and pokes, so I asked her to give me the Fake Blood baby on my right arm, but replacing the baby's head with Scum-Bag's, and that glorious, bug-eyed expression I got to see ONCE before he died.

Normally, when I finish my story, people ask me if I regret killing a family member to go to a concert. Scum-Bag was never family to me. Neither was my mom, to be honest. Both of them were more of a bad blister I wanted to scab and fall off. I needed the new skin DESPERATELY, and Heart Attack Man was my lucky shot at that, I guess! You mean to say I could see my favorite band perform my favorite songs, and meet people who'd ACTUALLY take a bullet for me, as if I was the band themselves, and all I had to do was kill a trash-heap of a man I already hated?

So my answer is no, no I don't regret it. Not one bit. Because not only did I get to SEE Heart Attack Man's badassery, I now solely BELONG to that badassery!

**Author's Note:**

> :/
> 
> My Socials:  
> https://linktr.ee/punkgrandpa_
> 
> Heart Attack Man:  
> https://twitter.com/HeartAttackMane  
> https://open.spotify.com/artist/5esKrGWvWmBAmjnao5jInN?si=9rsKwUXaRGmZ-HXMdDIfpw


End file.
